Last Life Line
by heavy.sighs.and.sad.goodbyes
Summary: The stories are what made her life go by. But that's because the stories WERE her life. Willingly dedicated to D R O W N -I N- S E Q U I N S.


_**Last Life Line**_

Mitchie's tears stain her computer desk. She looks at the computer screen as she reads the story. She tears her eyes away from the screen to look down at her desk.

It has tear stains on it. Her cheeks were wet. More tears. Always tears.

She reads the author's note at the end and gulps. It asks for reviews. She would do anything for this author as long as she keeps writing these stories. So she reviews.

As she hits the back button to go back to the author's profile page, she finds herself looking at the many links of stories the author has written.

Underneath each link is a short summary to the story the highlighted blue letters and words. Mitchie leans away from the screen and tells herself that she can't do this anymore. These stories are too good for her to read. She feels unworthy.

But she goes against her better judgment and clicks the blue link.

It brings her to yet another link that she knows she shouldn't have opened. But as soon as she sees the words appear she leans forward and forgets about the sin she just committed.

She reads the one-lined sentences. Tears scale down her cheeks quickly. She reaches the end and she reads the note again. It says that if she reviews, the author will love her forever. She clicks the button without hesitation. Eternal love. Just what she wants.

She leaves a good message. She has never left any other form of message for this particular author. Never has she left a review or comment of anger or a flame message. She has never corrected the author on her use of grammar or her spelling. Mitchie would never do such a thing.

She goes back to the profile and it happens again. She sees the numerous links. So many stories she hasn't read yet. So many stories that she has to read. So many stories, so little time.

She reads more and more, hoping that she'll get her fill so she can stop this dirty habit here and now.

But she knows deep down that she never will. These are the stories that will always be there. These are the stories that leave their mark on her heart. These are the stories that will never leave. They'll always be there.

She reads more and more to the point where she's re-reading them numerous times. But they never get old. They're always great. Always.

A ping comes from her computer and she quickly goes to her inbox to see what the email is. She gasps as she sees who it's from.

The name of the site followed by the authors' pen name. She quickly opens and reads the note.

It thanks her for being so enthusiastic about the stories she reads daily, and Mitchie feels more tears spill over. It also asks her to keep reading. Mitchie nods happily to the note.

Of course she'll read. She'll always read these magnificent stories. The stories that, in order to review differently for each one, she has to go to an online thesaurus to find synonyms for words she's already used and praying that her comments aren't too clingy.

She goes back and reads more. And more. She's re-read every one at least twice.

And then there's another ping from her computer.

She glances at the inbox and clicks it. She opens the link to the story. Right there at the top is the usual dedication, but this time, Mitchie gasps and her hands fly to her mouth.

She doesn't even read the story before letting her head slam down on the tear-stain desk. She screams and shakes her head, never feeling better in her life. Then she screams in anger at herself. How could she let this happen? How could she have this author dedicating something to _her_?

Tears flood her cheeks. She's glad her parents aren't home right now, or they'd be there asking her what was wrong. She's what's wrong.

She picks her head up slowly and rests her chin on the table. She dries her eyes just enough to see the screen so she can read the story written for her.

As she reads, her head lifts off the table and her head cocks to the side. What could it mean? She didn't know. But she read it again, and again, and again.

It didn't make sense, but that was why she loved it. She reviewed it and thanked the author deeply.

She and the author kept touch over the years, and more stories were dedicated to her. In the dedication it would tell her thank you for being such a great fan. Mitchie would reply with great modesty and leave it at that.

Mitchie read the stories through-out life, even after the author stopped writing them. She printed them out and put them all in a binder. She memorized the URL she read the stories so many times.

Mitchie lived to be 107 years old, because that was the story number she was.

And at her death bed, she asked the nurse to go through and read every story the author had ever written.

Because those stories always had been, and always would be, her last life line.

_This story is dedicated to D R O W N-I N- S E Q U I N S. Thanks for all the good reads. Can you guess who the amazing author is? I hope so. And don't forget it!_


End file.
